From Head to Toes
by PotterGatsbyHolmes
Summary: Amidst self doubt and an experiment involving dismembered toes, John finds himself debating if he was that which he had always denied... Could he actually be... *nervous glances* ... gay? Johnlock for ZeldaMoriarty and any other readers who wish to delve into the slightly grotesque fluff that is Johnlock.


**From Head to Toe**

**Disclaimer: This brainchild is mine. Alas the characters within are not, a fact which saddens me greatly. For ZeldaMoriarty for requesting more And also thanks to everyone else who's reviewed some of my other stuff – feedback is awesome xx**

John walked up behind his flatmate. This was wrong. So wrong. And…well…weird. He wasn't supposed to feel like this. How many people had he stated that he wasn't gay? The Woman, that bearded bloke from the restaurant… How many others? Christ, he'd told _Sherlock. _Of course, he'd never really been bothered about the whole thing. He'd been too busy hunting down every big criminal in London. And besides…Sherlock was straight. _Wasn't he? _Mrs Hudson didn't know, and John certainly didn't. How could he say what he was going to say without certainty?

_You can't, _muttered a small voice in his head. John's inherent diplomacy made him stop and listen to the voice's opinion.

'Why not?'

_Love isn't certain. _Old habit made him flinch at the word love.

'I'm not ga-' he began, but stopped and stared at the man in front of him. Sherlock had his back to John, engrossed in some twisted experiment that would probably cost them the whole left side of the kitchen and a lingering smell of toes. John couldn't keep up. Instead, he looked at the little things; the dark curls of hair on his neck, his large yet delicate hands, the way his dressing gowns were all tailored to fit near perfectly. His heart rate quickened, pounding through his head, his palms began to sweat and his knees damn near buckled. He fell forward, catching himself on the counter beside Sherlock.

"John," he exclaimed and held out a hand to steady him. He raised a hand and smiled quickly in reassurance.

"I'm fine. It's okay. Yep. All…good." he ended awkwardly. He couldn't meet those eyes. They were so… He cleared his throat.

"Are you alright?" Sherlock asked, voice a deep rumble. _Tell him, _demanded the voice.

"Uh… Sherrrlock," he began.

_Tell him, you idiot._

"Yes?"

_Tell him._

"Sherlock. Sherlock Sherlock Sherlock Sherlock…"

_Good God, man. Do you need cue cards?_

"John?"

"Sherlock."

_You love him. Not that hard._

"Thing is…we've known each other for a while now…"

_Oh God._

Sherlock gave his flatmate a confused look. "We live together, John."

_Tell him._

"Yes! I know! I'm tellin' him oh God."

_Could you slap yourself in the face for me please? That would be great. Idiot. _

"John?"

"I said that out loud, didn't I?"

"Yeahh, you kind of did."

"Right." John clenched and unclenched his fists awkwardly. Sherlock's toes were bubbling over a Bunsen burner. Vague noises of Mrs Hudson downstairs floated up the way.

"Who is he?" asked Sherlock?

"What? Who?"

"You said you were telling "him" something. Who's he?" Sherlock outlined the 'him' with exaggerated finger quotations, nearly knocking over the toe/juices. John took a deep breath.

"The "him", as you put it, is…you, Sherlock Holmes."

"Okay. Should I sit down? This sounds ominous and I'm told when a person is told something that will dramatically affect their lifestyle the proper thing to do is-"

"IloveyouSherlockHolmes," John breathed as he ran at him, pressing his lips to the detectives. This time the toes did get knocked over, but the two men were far too busy experimenting with other things. John ran his hands through Sherlock's black, black hair, breathing in every part of the man he could. One escaped and explored his lower back, and the muscles tensing below the skin.

_At least he's not pushing you away, fool._

This was true. If anything, Sherlock seemed as interested in John as he was previously with the toes. His long graceful fingers made their way under John's sweater ("You always had too many of these," he muttered) and pulled it over the top of his head, hitting the cabinet in the process.

"Are you oka-" Sherlock silenced him with a kiss and faux-disgusted sigh of "Sentiment".

They moved towards the living room and fell embraced to the sofa, Sherlock holding himself above his doctor.

"Sherlock," John panted.

"John," he replied.

"The toes."

"Toes?"

"Toes!" they shouted simultaneously. They ran to the kitchen just in time to see the cabinets catch fire, and an overpowering smell of burnt flesh reach their nostrils. John grabbed a blanket and Sherlock ran for the fire extinguisher. After the flames were gone they stood, laughing amongst the charred ruins of the kitchen. "Your damn experiments. What were you researching might I ask?" John said, wiping sweat and soot from his forehead. Sherlock shrugged.

"Deleted."

"Deleted? Did we just burn down the kitchen so you could delete your reason for it?"

Sherlock strode over and kissed him so fiercely it almost blocked out the smell and made him see stars. Once again he was exploring the glorious land that was Sherlock's body; lips, hair, tongue, hands, back…

_This is better than solving crimes, isn't it?_

John smiled, and the consulting detective pulled away.

"I had more important information to save." he grinned, and wrapped his arms around the doctor's waist.


End file.
